Git - Bodyguard
by Aloemilk
Summary: Missing moment in 6th year, told from both Ron and Hermione's POV. Two drabbles, one chapter per drabble and POV. Crossposted on Tumblr.
1. Git

Ron did not enjoy feeling like he was at odds with himself. He was someone who was lead by his guts, by his heart. So why were they both saying he had made a horrible mistake?

He was sitting on the sofa in the common room, pretending to be working on homework. He couldn't concentrate; his attention kept going back to the ache in his heart. Every time he let himself pay attention to it he regretted it, because there was an immediate answer he was not ready to face.

Hermione.

He lifted his eyes, surreptitiously stealing a glance at her. He picked at a few of the remaining scabs he still had on his arms. The cuts left by her birds should have healed by now but, by a mixture of magic and his incessant scratching, a few were still very raw. He only stopped when he felt his skin slick with blood, and he swore he'd get a salve or potion or something to deal with it like any good wizard would. Then again, he had been promising that for days and he hadn't done it, yet.

Hermione looked up at him, contempt in her eyes. He quickly looked away, pretending to go back to his books.

"Shit," he whispered to himself. He did not want her to catch him looking at her and yet he couldn't help himself... he looked at her again. She didn't look back. He forced himself to go back to his books once more.

He had thought he'd gotten what he wanted. He thought that kissing someone was all he needed to prove to himself and to the world that he was desirable, too, and could be casual about it; that he could also kiss someone else than the girl he was pining for and... and...

"Shit," he repeated.

He looked at Hermione again, unaware that the sudden sorrow he felt was clear on his face. This time she looked back, rage and hurt contorting her face. He didn't look away and she held his gaze for a moment. After a few seconds, her face softened and, even at this distance, he saw the tears well on her eyes. The light shone perfectly on her, that way.

She was the one to finally break the contact. She grabbed her things in a hurry, her face again that mix of anger and pain. She left in a flutter of robes.

"Fuck," Ron said this time, letting his head drop to the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes.

 _I cocked up._


	2. Bodyguard

_Don't look at him. Don't give him the satisfaction. Don't do this to yourself._

The words were a mantra in her mind, and yet she had to bite her lips not to give in and look up. She knew, of course she knew he was sitting across the room, limbs long and sprawling over the sofa, a book he was certainly not really reading on his lap. She knew him well, she was sure he wasn't really studying.

So what was he doing? Why was he there-

She felt it. She felt his eyes on her, the weight of them on the crown of her bent head. Along with it she felt the rage that he _dared_ seek her out. She basked in it, in the way it guarded her heart from the hurt; perhaps then she could show how much she despised him right this minute. When she was sure she could, she looked up. He looked down. She had to bend her head down again, to hide the truth: she was angry, but she couldn't despise him. She would still like him to think she could.

She felt him looking up at her again. How could she be so certain of it, she didn't know. Realizing she hoped it was because, underneath it all, despite the mess they were in, they were still connected- in thinking this she couldn't muster the rage again, so she did not look back. A second later she felt him give up, too.

Why was he looking at her? What was he trying to do? What did he want her to do?

 _What do you want his looks to mean?_

He must be playing with her. He must be looking for signs he had achieved what he wanted… breaking her heart. His uncaring, unloyal heart had hurt her. As rage surged through her again, she let herself return his look this time, hoping her anger would hide how much it mattered, what had happened between them. What never happened between them.

Feeling the loss of what never was opened her eyes to the sorrow on his face. She knew him so well; she knew he felt the loss, too. And because she knew him; because she knew he was caring and that he was loyal, the answer was only one.

 _I did this to us._

She had to have done something. Why had he changed? Why had he tried to hurt her?

She felt the tears well in her eyes. And she hated herself for failing, for ruining what they could have had together. And she wanted to hate him but couldn't, and hated herself for it.

But she was proud, too. She could never let him know the depth of her feelings.

So this time she gathered all the anger she felt for herself and let it show, so that it would serve like a bodyguard to her heart. So that he would see wrath and indignation, and would never know that she could never despise _him_.

She broke. She broke the connection and gathered her things. She needed to leave before she became transparent to him. She knew he knew her well, like that.


End file.
